The Living Dead 2 (The Living Dead, #2)(191)

It seemed all the more imperative to know what such a self-annihilating feeling might be called, and what might be expected of one who felt such a thing so intensely. As any understanding of this feeling seemed completely beyond the grasp of his damaged mind, he loosed a cry to the uncaring stars as long and piercing as any sent forth from a living man as he died, forsaken and alone. The fact that he was already dead only seemed to increase his loneliness and separation from anyone or anything that might ease his pain.

As the orange orb of the sun pushed up above the tops of the cool forest around him, the light soothed him somewhat, and he could let the feelings and thoughts of the girl occupy him, rather than hurt him. He would simply have to go on with them as his mental landscape. Looking at the stiffened female body across his lap, the smears of his blood and hers on the pavement around him, he realized these did not frighten or hurt him; and if they did not, then he would ignore the pain of his thoughts, perhaps even let their beauty distract him from the ugliness and destruction all around.

He laid the woman gently on the ground and folded her hands across her chest. Smoothing her beautiful hair one last time, he pulled himself up to his full height and shuffled away from the body. He had no plan, but something in the words on the sign—WELCOME TO LOUISIANA—made him think of her, the girl in his mind.

His shoes crunched on broken glass. He didn’t like the sound.





Wayne watched from the darkness at the foot of the stairs. His flashlight hung from his belt. His right hand rested on his holstered gun.

The skylights were just useless blue rectangles now. All the lower-level windows were long-since boarded up. You couldn’t see the dead amassing outside, but you could hear them, shuffling and grunting in the primeval twilight. Occasionally they banged on the aluminum walls and it echoed through the building to sound like a stage storm, making it hard to hear the living as they scuttled in between points of artificial light. Wayne held his watch to his face and pressed the light button. The sun would be down in half an hour. Five minutes and they were out of here, ready or not. Where the hell was Ian?

“Keep your voices down,” Seth said, hissing, trying to rally the troops and failing miserably. Several men clustered around him, voices raised in the darkness, their wan faces washed in the cold light cast by various battery-powered fluorescent lanterns. Outside, the dead moaned.

“Listen, listen,” Seth said, and someone shouted him down. They needed to get out of here, and now.

“No,” someone else said. It may have been Hank, but Wayne wasn’t really sure.

“How did they find us? How did so many…”

“…gotta get to the trucks and…”

“…to shut up. They can hear…”

“…already know we’re in here…”

“…how many are there…”

Gunshots from above brought silence, then the hollow thump of the aluminum roof sheets shifting beneath the weight of the gunmen.

“If you’d just listen for a minute,” Seth said, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. “I was trying to—” Another shot interrupted him. He raised his voice: “Steve and Brian are on the roof. We’re safe here. That’s why we—”

Static, and then a voice: “Seth. It’s Brian. Over.”

Motioning for those around him to stay silent, Seth plucked the walkie-talkie from his hip and held it to his face. “Talk to me. Over.”

“There’s gotta be fifty or sixty out here right now. Over.”

“We can handle that.”

A few seconds of silence. Wayne looked at his watch again. He could hear one of the kids upstairs, crying. Somewhere, a walking corpse pounded on the side of the warehouse with what sounded like a pipe. More gunshots.

“Brian? Over.”

“Yeah, we can, but we’re making a hell of a lot of noise. They might just keep coming. You know how—”

The shouts from those around Seth drowned out the rest. The large group splintered into smaller groups, the familiar cliques coming together at last.

“…it’s Wayne’s fault…”

“…finish the job!”

“…followed his trail…”

“…that’s not how it works. They’re not that smart…”

“…led them right to us…”

“…where is he…”

Crouching in the darkness, Wayne pulled his gun, killed the safety. Almost. Almost.

Seth’s small group pulled together, shouted for everyone to listen, said that they had to work together, that they’d survive if they could just—

“The trucks,” one of Zach’s pals said, his own group advancing on Seth’s. Everywhere, people scurried, vanishing into the offices that served as their living quarters. Above, the gunfire continued. Outside, the dead howled and pressed in. “Give us the keys. We’re getting the f*ck out of here.”

“I’m not giving you the keys, Tevin. Just take a minute and think about what you’re—”

Someone shot Seth, and then the air was buzzing with lead.

Wayne dropped low and let the whole thing play itself out. A second of silence, followed by the cries of the wounded. On the roof, the men continued to fire their guns. The dead hammered the building. Someone ran by, their flashlight beam bobbing.